


Chicken Soup for the Bud

by TDKeh16



Series: Tumblr Fics and Prompts [39]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, M/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13933137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TDKeh16/pseuds/TDKeh16
Summary: Bad Bob shows up in Providence to nurse his son back to health when he hears that Jack has the flu.





	Chicken Soup for the Bud

**Author's Note:**

> This has been kicking around in my head for a while now and I FINALLY finished it. Here's some father-son bonding, fluff, and chirps.

"Hey, bud. How're you feeling?"

 

It took Jack a full minute to register that he should be alone in his apartment. Bitty was in the thick of exam week. The Falcs were on a roadie for 5 more days. Hearing a man's voice in his apartment should have startled him, but something about it felt so familiar.

 

"Ughn..." Jack managed to groan out as he rolled over in his bed.

 

" _That_ good, eh?" Bob gave a soft chuckle.

 

It took Jack close to another minute to remember that not only did his father not live there, he did not live in the same city, or even the same country. "Papa?"

 

"I'm not really here. This is all a figment of your imagination. A fevered dream..."

 

"Huh?"

 

"I'm kidding, my boy." Bob snickered. "Can you sit up for me? You should drink some water. Stay hydrated."

 

Jack groaned again as he squirmed his way into a somewhat upright position. "Why are you here?"

 

"One of the perks of being a retired old man, I can fly down to Rhode Island on a whim to take care of my sick son."

 

"That's a perk?"

 

"Well, not for  _you,_ but I missed a lot of these moments when you were growing up. I'll happily take what I can get."

 

"You didn't have to--"

 

"Shh, drink your water," Bob urged gently.

 

"But you came all this way?"

 

"I _wanted_ to."

 

Jack drank half a glassful of the water and handed it back to his father, who placed it on his nightstand. "I'm not even that sick..."

 

"Yeah? That barf bucket I emptied when I got here says otherwise."

 

"...I puked so much." Jack sighed.

 

"I know, bud. I know," said Bob. "I saw the bucket."

 

" _So much._ "

 

"Yeah." Bob nodded sympathetically and picked up the glass of water again. "How's your stomach feeling now? Think you can keep more down?"

 

"It's sore, but... maybe?" Jack took another sizable gulp of water, but his cautious smile quickly soured. "Nope!"

 

Bob handed over the bucket in the nick of time, and grimaced as his son vomited again. "That's a hell of a flu you've got, eh?"

 

"You shouldn't be here. I'm going to make you sick too."

 

"Don't you worry about that. I got my flu shot this year."

 

"This isn't... it's not a normal flu. This is... so bad."

 

"Ahh, I see." Bob nodded solemnly. "Well, it's not the swine flu or the bird flu... Maybe a crocodile flu? You just played that roadie down in Florida, after all. What did I tell you about swimming in those swamps?"

 

"Florida has gators, not crocs..." Jack corrected him with a weak chuckle.

 

"Well,  _gator_ flu, then." Bob grinned when Jack snickered some more. "I know you're all grown up and a hotshot hockey star now, but you still have to listen to your father _sometimes_ , you know?"

 

"My mistake."

 

"Well, lesson learned. Stick to swimming in the hotel pool next time. Florida pools have almost no alligators in them. Not _zero_ , but way less than your average everglade."

 

"I'll remember that for--" Jack grabbed the bucket again and dry-heaved, then groaned in discomfort. Even he wasn't sure if he felt relieved or disappointed that nothing had come out that time. "Ow."

 

"Pulled a couple muscles?"

 

Jack nodded wearily in response and slowly sunk back down into his bed, lying on his side and curling up. "Yeah."

 

"Do you have a thermometer? We should check that temperature." Bob pushed the sweat-dampened bangs off of his son's forehead.

 

"Yeah. In the little closet in the hall. By the bathroom. In there somewhere..."

 

"Okay, I'll go grab it." Bob stood from Jack's beside, but paused in the doorway. "It's a regular thermometer right? For mouths?"

 

Jack's pale face regained some colour as he blushed furiously. "Papa!"

 

It took Bob a second to realize how that had sounded. He too, began blushing. "No-- I meant-- shit. Your cousin Claudette has one of those  _ear thermometers_  and I-- I didn't know what to look for when we were there at Easter."

 

"Oh! Uh-- Sorry. I, um--"

 

"No, no! I'm sorry. I didn't-- I shouldn't have pointed it out--" 

 

"No, I should've know that's not what you--"

 

"Listen. I _love_ Bittle," Bob rushed to assure his son.

 

"No, I know you do--"

 

"--And I'm so happy that you're dating him."

 

"I know. Papa, I know." Jack nodded his head and it made the room spin.

 

"I promise that wasn't a crude 'rectal thermometer' joke just because you're dating a man now."

 

"...I think I'm gonna throw up some more."

 

Bob hurried back to Jack's bedside and handed him the bucket once more, before disappearing into the hallway in search of the aforementioned thermometer. He returned to find Jack sitting up again in bed with his face hovering close but not over the bucket.

 

"My poor boy..." Bob clicked his tongue and shook his head as he reapproached.

 

"This is so embarrassing..." Jack groaned quietly and closed his eyes to avoid seeing his father's sympathetic expression.

 

"If this is about the thermom--"

 

" _ **No.**_ "

 

"Good. Let's forget that ever happened."

 

"Agreed," Jack mumbled. "I didn't want you to see me like this..."

 

Bob sighed as he reached out to soothingly rub Jack's back. "There's no shame in being sick, son. It happens to us all."

 

"I'm in the best shape of my life. I should be stronger than this."

 

Bob frowned. He recognized that Jack was doing much better than he used to when it came to the high expectations he set for himself, but there was still a part of Jack that wanted to put on a brave face for Bob. "Would you rather I wasn't here? Is it harder for you if I see you while you're this sick?"

 

Jack frowned too, and carefully returned the bucket to his bedside, hoping that the action itself would not disturb his stomach yet again. "I... It's not that I want you to _leave_..."

 

"But it's embarrassing for you?"

 

"A little."

 

Bob sighed sadly. "Well, let's compromise for now. We'll check your temperature and if you keep some medicine down, then I'll get out of your hair for a little bit so you can rest. I'll still be in the apartment though, so I'll be close by if you need me."

 

Jack could that his dad was disappointed, and made a mental note to make it up to him when he could focus a bit better. He knew Bob just wanted to help, but the little voice inside his head that had spent a lifetime telling him he could not measure up to his dad was hard to silence sometimes. Jack gave his head a small nod. "Okay. Thanks, Papa."

 

Jack's fever was 103.1, and Bob did not like that one bit. He got a cool, damp cloth for Jack's forehead. He handed over a dose of medicine with a deep frown still on his face. "That fever better go down..." Bob threatened it vaguely.

 

"It's lower than it was before." Jack's new information did not help his concerned father.

 

Bob stopped short of telling Jack he would take him to the hospital if he did not start showing signs of improvement, knowing that would only add to Jack's stress in the moment. He also refrained from asking how high Jack's temperature had been before he arrived, deciding instead to worry to himself until Jack was feeling well enough to hold a conversation. "Get some sleep. I'll check in on you in a bit."

 

***

 

It was another two and a half hours before Bob heard from his son again. He turned his head away from the cooking show he had been watching at the sound of feet heavily shuffling their way down the hall.

 

"Heya, sport. How're you feeling now?"

 

"A little hungry... That's a good sign, right?"

 

Bob hopped to his feet. "That's a great sign, and  _excellent_ timing! I was just about to whip up some of grand-maman's famous chicken soup."

 

Jack chuckled weakly. "It's been a while since I've had that."

 

"Then it's settled!" Bob made himself busy in the kitchen and Jack pulled up a stool to watch him work. "How's that fever? Did it go down?"

 

"100.2 now."

 

"Good. That's at least some improvement..." Bob stared at the celery he was chopping, while he debated whether the timing was right for what he wanted to say. "Listen, Jack... about what you said earlier..."

 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

 

"No," Bob interrupted him gently. "Jack, I  _know_ you meant it... And you don't have to apologize -- I do."

 

"Papa, no. You--" Jack's protest was stopped short by a coughing fit.

 

Bob reached across the counter and patted his son's arm. "I'm so sorry for everything, son. Your grand-papa was always so tough on me growing up... I really didn't want that for you, but I guess I failed anyway, eh?"

 

"Papa, non. You were-- still  _are_ so great. Really. It was never  _you..._ Everyone else just seemed to..." Jack trailed off and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. It's hard to explain."

 

"Try? Please?"

 

Jack sighed. "It's like... You and your shadow were two different people."

 

"My boy..." Bob put the knife in his other hand down and reached out to touch Jack's face. "My sweet son... You know how proud I am, don't you? How much I love you?"

 

"We don't have to talk about this right now..."

 

Bob was torn between pressing the topic and waiting for a later time when Jack was feeling better. He slid his hand up to Jack's forehead to feel his temperature again. "Hm..."

 

Jack scoffed out a small laugh and pulled back so that his father would stop. "I didn't lie."

 

"I know." Bob resumed chopping vegetables to add to the soup. "There's never been a second of your life that I felt anything but love for you, you know? Not a _second_. And when I say I'm proud of you, I don't mean because you're in the NHL now. I'm proud of  _ **you.**_ The man you've grown up to be. That you're still...  _here._ " Bob's voice cracked a little when he said the last word.

 

Jack stared at the cutting board between them. He knew that Bob was looking at him, but he could not bear to make eye contact in that moment. "I'm sorry for worrying you so much," he said quietly. 

 

" _Jack_ ," Bob groaned in exasperation. "You don't have to apologize for that."

 

"Well... _You_ don't have to apologize for the pressure I was under. You weren't the one who put it on me -- other people did... And I did."

 

"Like now?"

 

Jack looked up at his father then. "...Yeah."

 

"You're sick, son. Not weak. Being the best in the NHL doesn't spare you from this godforsaken flu."

 

"I know."

 

"And you don't have to pretend to be strong for everyone all the time."

 

"I don't. Not with  _everyone..._ " Jack looked down again. "Not with Bittle."

 

Bob smiled. "Good. I'm happy that he can be that person for you. He's a wonderful young man."

 

"He's the best." Jack looked up again and found Bob's warm smile morphing into a wide grin. " _What?_ " Jack asked, slightly defensive.

 

"Nothing!" Bob snickered and began scraping the chopped vegetables into the pot. "Can't I be happy that my son is so in love?"

 

"I mean, I _guess_ so, but..."

 

"I'm surprised that you didn't call him come take care of you while you've been feeling so rotten."

 

"He has exams. He has to study. I told him that he's not allowed send more than 5 text messages per day this week and that we would Skype when his exams were over."

 

"Oh? Did those restrictions apply only to contact with you, or everyone?"

 

"Me. If he texted me too much or tried to Skype, he might realize how sick I was. He needs to focus on exams, not me." Jack frowned when the entirety of his father's question hit him. "I wouldn't restrict him from communicating with  _everyone._ That would be crazy."

 

Bob chuckled. "So, Bittle has been free to text _other_ people this whole time?"

 

"Of course. Why?"

 

"Just wondering..." Bob shrugged. "So he would be completely free to text someone else he knows and maybe _they_ would decide to come check on you when they hear how sick you must be feeling."

 

"He doesn't know how sick I am."

 

"Oh, _Jack_..." Bob laughed. "That boy is sweet, but he's not _naïve_." 

 

"What?"

 

Bob fished out his phone from his pocket and read from the screen. "Jack is trying to hide how sick he is right now like I don't spend half my life online and haven't heard about how nasty this flu bug is that's going around. He wouldn't miss a roadie unless he was really sick, but if I go over there he'll worry about distracting me from my exams. Your son is _impossible_. What should I do?" Bob snickered again at the word "impossible." Had he mentioned lately how much he liked this Eric Bittle kid?

 

"Oh no..."

 

"So here I am!"

 

"I thought I was being so clever..."

 

"Suzanne Bittle did _not_ raise a fool."

 

"Is he mad I lied to him?" Jack asked sheepishly.

 

Bob chuckled and patted his son's shoulder. "Well,  _no..._ But maybe you should call him?"

 

"I should. I should go call him right now. Do you know where my phone is?"

 

"On the coffee table." Bob smiled. "Go. I'll be busy with the soup for a little while longer."

 

Jack carefully slid off of the barstool, making sure that his legs were steady enough to support his weight. As soon as he had grabbed his phone, he sank into the plush living room sofa and called Bitty.

 

"Well, well, well! Mr. Zimmermann, as I live and breathe!" Bitty's cheerful greeting rang out through the apartment. "I thought all Skype dates were off the table until I finished my exams..."

 

Jack chuckled. "Yeah, I know. I just really wanted to see your face..."

 

"Oh, _honey_..." Bitty said with a small frown. "You look so pale. How are you feeling?"

 

"Better," and then a moment later, "Really. My fever has gone down a lot and some of my appetite is coming back. My dad is here making me chicken noodle soup... but I guess you already knew that, eh?"

 

"I did." Bitty chuckled softly.

 

"Sorry I lied to you, Bits. I didn't want you to worry while you were already so busy."

 

"I know, sweet pea. Jokes on you, however, because I've been worried  _anyway._ " Bitty saw the smile fall from Jack's lips. "-- Less so since your dad told me he was going to visit you. This helps a lot too. I'm happy you decided to call me."

 

"Me too."

 

"I knew if I dropped everything to go take care of you it would just stress you out, and probably make you feel worse. So I've been a good boyfriend and completely neglected you for the past 3 days." Bitty grinned.

 

"The  _best_ boyfriend," Jack corrected him with a gentle smile.

 

"You  _charmer._ " Bitty laughed, followed by a soft sigh. "I don't want to keep you too long, you need your rest."

 

"Yeah. And you need to--"

 

"--get back to studying. Yeah, yeah, I know."  Bitty rolled his eyes dramatically, his grin never leaving his lips.

 

Jack laughed too, causing him to start coughing. Bitty winced and Jack quickly waved his hand in front of the screen to dismiss his worry. "I'm okay. I'm already feeling so much better. Really."

 

Bitty smiled. "You better not be lying to me, Mr. Zimmermann. I have a spy in your apartment, you know?"

 

"Very sneaky, Bittle."

 

"I have friends in high places, what can I say? I'm _very_ mysterious, Jack."

 

"You really are, Bits. Full of surprises." Jack rested his head against the back of the couch and propped his phone up on his knees to keep Bitty at eye-level while spending the least amount of energy. His eyes drifted closed for a moment, before his dark lashes fluttered open again.

 

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We can talk again soon. And you can bet your sweet buns that I will be on the first train to Providence after my game Friday night."

 

Jack snickered. "You think I have 'sweet buns,' eh Bittle?"

 

"Have you taken a look at yourself recently? The _entire world_ thinks you have sweet buns, darling."

 

Jack snickered again, but froze when he looked up to find Bob standing behind the couch with a mug in his hand. "Oh. Papa. Uh..."

 

"Soup's ready," Bob said with an amused smirk. He handed the mug full of soup over to Jack and returned to the kitchen without another word.

 

"Oh, man... my dad just heard us talking about my _buns_..." Jack groaned.

 

"Oh lord. I think that's my cue to leave, then. Have a good night, sweetheart. Enjoy your soup. Get lots of rest."

 

" _Bits_ \--"

 

"Studying awaits!" Bitty began gathering his books.

 

"Bits, _wait_..." Jack pleaded softly and Bitty stopped in his tracks. "I love you."

 

"I love you too, sweet pea. Good night."

 

"Good night." Jack set his phone back down on the coffee table when the call ended. He continued smiling as he sipped the broth from his mug.

 

Bob took a seat on the couch beside his son and sipped his own serving of soup. "...I heard your  _entire_ conversation, you know? You were talking at full volume, bud."

 

"Oh."

 

Bob laughed and nudged Jack's shoulder. "Don't worry so much. It was sweet. I'm sure you've heard me say  _much_ more embarrassing things to your mother."

 

"True. You say some pretty cheesy things..."

 

Bob guffawed. "Excuse _me?_ One man's cheese is another man's charm, son."

 

"What was that dinosaur one you tried at Christmas that was so funny?" Jack asked him.

 

"Dinosaur one?" Bob had to think for a moment. "Oh! I said: ' _Kiss_ me if I'm wrong, but don't dinosaurs still exist?' That one?"

 

Jack laughed. "And then it backfired, because maman pointed out that dinosaurs evolved into birds."

 

"Hey, I got the kiss anyway, didn't I? I'm not above a pity-kiss -- especially if it's from the most beautiful girl in the room."

 

Jack chuckled and took another sip of broth. "That's cute."

 

"Damn right, it is. We didn't get voted 'cutest couple' in the NHL Hall of Fame superlatives section for nothing, you know."

 

"Is that-- That's not a real thing... Is it?"

 

Bob laughed again. "No, but it  _should_ be. I've been thinking of just making it myself," he teased.

 

Jack smiled and shook his head at his silly father. "Well, if you ever get that up and running... I'd vote for you guys."

 

"I'd think twice about that if I were you. I bet you and Bittle will give maman and I a run for our money for that title."

 

"Pfft." Jack scoffed and ducked his lightly blushing cheeks behind his mug for another sip.

 

Bob reached an arm around his son's shoulders and gave him a squeeze. He took advantage of Jack's hunched position and placed a loving kiss on the top of his head, then grimaced. "You'd have a fair shot at the 'greasiest hair' award, too, if I'm being completely honest here, bud."

 

"Oh. Yeah. I haven't felt well enough to shower for the past couple days, I guess. Sorry about that."

 

"No worries, son. You'll be back on your feet in no time, I'm sure of it." Bob followed up with another shoulder squeeze. "Want to watch a movie? I saw that you had 'Bon Cop, Bad Cop' over there eariler. It's all queued up to go."

 

"I'm probably going to fall asleep during it, but we can put it on if you want."

 

"Great!" Bob pressed play and put the remote down on the coffee table with his empty mug. He turned to smile at his son, but noticed that Jack was still nursing the broth of his soup. "Just broth?"

 

"I had some of the vegetables. And some noodles."

 

"No chicken? You should eat more protein."

 

Jack let out a short laugh and almost choked on his soup. Bob gave him a quizzical look. "Never mind. It's an inside joke. I, uh, used to say that to Bittle so he could get stronger for hockey."

 

"I think that boy is plenty strong already."

 

" _Oh_ yeah." Jack chuckled and then remembered that he was talking to his father. He cleared his throat and put down his soup. "I meant with hockey. He's fast and strong. Soft hands-- in _hockey_."

 

"I've seen him play, son. I know." Bob wanted desperately to chirp his awkward son, but resisted the urge. "A mighty fine player."

 

"He's so great."

 

Bob chuckled. "He sure is. Not that I'm surprised you fell for an excellent hockey player."

 

Jack yawned. "Yeah... but not just at hockey. He's great at everything -- except studying. But even then, he's great at _procrastinating_ , so..."

 

"I bet he'll make a pretty great son-in-law some day. I can hardly wait."

 

"Me too, but about husbands..." Jack said as his eyes drifted closed.

 

Bob eased Jack's head onto his shoulder with a soft smile, and his ill son was asleep before the opening sequence of the movie had  finished rolling. "Good night, bud."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!


End file.
